The Rose
by KuraraChui966
Summary: Have you ever known one of those people?    I did.    Her name was Kurara, and this is her story.
1. Prologue

A/N: OH. DEAR. PRIMUS.

So, I checked my email today and got pleasant surprise. Apparently one Mrs. Silverfairy966 liked "The Rose". A lot. She even posted a review saying, and I quote, "Please update. This is a really good story. I love it!"

Well, that got me right in my non-existent heart. Feeling nostalgic for my Keroro Gunso days, I decided to go back and read "The Rose", just so I could laugh at how terrible it is. And it was absolutely abysmal, right up until the 9th or 10th chapter.

Now, touched at the kind comment and amused at what I used to think passed as a good story, I'm here to start afresh. Let's give this another go, shall we?

**The Rose (Reboot): Prologue **

Have you ever known one of _those_ people?

You know, the ones who hang out on the edges of groups and don't socialize. The ones who probably had something really terrible happen to them, and that's why they're so freakish.

I knew one of those people. And that "something terrible" that happened to her? It was bad. Bad enough that someone _has_ to know. So I'm writing this, so at least you'll know.

Her name was Kurara. And this is the story of the time that she escaped, crashed, made a new friend, died, lived again, and then was happy.

It all started with the King.

King Kazuzu, high ruler of the Planet Teron, and father to young Ms. Kurara, was the one who gave the order .

The order that changed everything.

_Continued in Chapter 1. I promise it will be longer._


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: You guys! :D**

**I got such a positive response from the prologue, including one from dragonfire18 that really pulled on my metaphorical heart strings:**

"**This story is deffinatly awesome and you should write more of it for sure :D**

I remember reading this story aaaaaaages ago and it was my faverite story for  
months, I read it like five times!

Deffos update, perdy please ^w^"

**Well dragonfire, it's been a long time since I last wrote this fic (minus the recent prologue), and I can't quite write in the same style as I used to, but I'll try my hardest to make this "reboot" just as good (and hopefully better) then the original. I hope you all like it!**

**Other than that, constructive criticism, reviews, corrections, and comments are welcome, and appreciated! **

Chapter 1

The corniest way to describe a scene is:

"It was a dark and stormy night"

But thankfully, the time this particular story starts was _not_ at night, neither was it dark or even remotely stormy. No, it was a bright, sunny, and utterly stereotypical good day on the obscure planet of Pekopon. By all rights, every being, Pekoponian or not, should have been positive, bubbly, and optimistic as the day is long.

But of course, not absolutely _everyone _on a planet can be happy at the same time. For instance, there was a man in America that had locked himself out of his house, only to find once inside that he had been robbed blind. He wasn't very happy. And there was a woman and her twin daughters in Russia who cried over the corpse of their recently dead husband and father._ They_ weren't the least bit bubbly.

There was also a blue Keronian in Japan who had never felt less optimistic in his short, froggy life. Nor had he ever had less reason to be so pessimistic. After all, the sun was shining through the open window in his wooden hut, Koyuki-dono had already leapt off to school, and he had the whole day to just sit there, katana balanced carefully on the top of his head, and meditate.

Except he couldn't. Not when today just felt so….. _wrong._

He was trying to relax, he really was! But this little nagging voice in the back of his mind kept insisting that today was a _very_ bad day for him.

_Can't you feel it? _the voice insisted, _You've got to be cautious! Today is bad! When days are bad you need to be prepared!_

Dororo glanced over at the floor boards in one corner of the room, and then jerked his head back into its previous position hastily. He knew what the voice meant by "prepared", and he _would not, _no matter how extreme the circumstances, _ever _fulfill that "prepared".

However, it seemed as though his brain had a different view on the matter. No matter how hard he tried to "be at peace" and "find his happy place", his thoughts kept drifting towards the corner of the room, the lose floorboards, and the secrets beneath them. It also didn't help that that little voice was still jabbering away in his head, saying how "Desperate times call for desperate measures", how "The ends justify the means", and how he'd "Always had an excellent 6th sense", and that he should "Trust his instincts" .

Dororo began to twitch, already tense body becoming stiff as he struggled to control his annoyance. He had decided (what seemed like) a long time ago that he would never, _ever_ use those things ever again. No amount of pestering by some non-existent head-voice would change that. He didn't even know why he still kept them; he didn't use the items anymore, and any memories they held were bitter and lonely.

He clenched his hands into fists, and a particularly violent twitch sent the precisely-balanced katana tumbling to the floor.

He froze, staring at the long strip of tan wood. A gleaming strip of metal glared back at him from where the sheath had slid off slightly from the fall.

His katana. His weapon of choice. Whether he liked it or not, it _was _choice. No matter how much he changed, be it in appearance, personality, opinion, or even allegiances, he was a soldier. An assassin.

Reaching a decision, Dororo stood, bent down, and grabbed and sheathed the blade in one fluid movement. Straightening, he moved swiftly to the corner and pried at one of the floor boards. It came away almost instantaneously; popping out of place with a clean little _snap_, and revealing the shallow pit that had been dug beneath it.

Here, dusty with disuse and neglect, lay Dororo's shame.

A gas mask, a few lengths of combat-type razor wire, a three or four sealed pots, and several military issue jack knives sat there, ingrained with dirt and beginning to rust.

Memories of time long past flooded Dororo's mind, and he felt a certain switch inside him beginning to creak _sl-ow-ly_ open. Eyes narrowing in determination, he pushed the traumatic feeling back down and reached decisively for the largest of the sealed pots. He seized it and twisted the lid off, breaking the seal with an expert flick of the wrist.

His face crinkled with distaste as a bitter, slippery scent slithered its unctuous way out of the jar, hanging thick and disgusting in air that was just moments ago fresh and sweet.

Eager to get it done before his strict moral code got the better of him, Dororo hurriedly pulled the cap the rest of the way off and quickly unsheathed and dipped his katana in the substance within. The sludge-colored ooze hung wetly on his blade for a second, dripping vilely and emitting that same slimy scent before hardening into the exact shape of the blade and becoming translucent and odorless.

Sheathing the subtly coated blade and hastily resealing the jar, Dororo threw the mysterious jar back into his little pit of relics, snapped the firmly back into place, and set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the door .

He needed to think, to convince himself that he had done the right thing. He _was_ right. Better safe than sorry. Something was going to happen today, and it wasn't going to fun.

He was going for a walk in the park.


End file.
